


#3: Statistical Improbabilities

by holyhouses (MIKTRONIK)



Series: A Nice and Accurate Book of Oneshots [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: AW YISS THAT'S A TAG, And I mean VERY, Angst, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley's Eyes (Good Omens), Betaed, Blood, Character Death, Crowley Dies (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley's Eyes (Good Omens), Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Post-Canon, Sad, Sad Ending, Tragedy, Wedding Rings, autism won't let me just use some of the tags that work, how much do i have to elaborate how tragic this is, i've got to use them all, no, very very very very very mildly philosophical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-13 06:22:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28898865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MIKTRONIK/pseuds/holyhouses
Summary: "Being immortal is the cruelest fate of all. It is only the immortal who come to believe they have forever, but will never achieve it."I felt sad, y'all, and this is what happened. Read the tags, for Satan's sake.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: A Nice and Accurate Book of Oneshots [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2082993
Comments: 7
Kudos: 18





	#3: Statistical Improbabilities

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the lovely [half_fallen_mess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/half_fallen_mess/pseuds/half_fallen_mess). They have no works yet, but I'll put them anyway in case someday they do!

  


There is a difference between being immortal, and being indestructible.   
  
Angels and demons are the former. God is the latter.   
  
Either way, there is one thing that they have in common, and that is that if they aren’t paying enough attention, centuries can go by in a blink.   
  
Aziraphale, however, can feel every second drag by in the never-ending grating strokes of the hands of the clock in the kitchen, the kitchen where Crowley is smiling, like always, yellow eyes crinkled and warm and perfect, but there’s  _ fear _ there, and an apology behind the way he so softly says: “We both knew it wasn’t possible.”   
  
Being immortal is the cruelest fate of all. It is only the immortal who come to believe they have forever, but will never achieve it. Still, Aziraphale whispers, “It was never  _ impossible,  _ Crowley. It was a statistical improbability, but it was still possible--”   
  
“Angel.” A slow ooze of blood trickles out of the corner of his mouth. Aziraphale bends down and softly kisses it away, kisses the scared tears that have begun leaking down in streams to rival Aziraphale’s own, kisses the soft eyes, stubbled cheeks, gentle mouth.

“W-we had so much planned,” Aziraphale says. His voice is watery, and he hates the way his hands shake as he guides Crowley’s hand to his lips, pressing his cold, sharp knuckles there. “We were going to have dinner at the Ritz, we were going to go to the Pride parade next week and you were going to wear that gorgeous purple dress, you were going to make me watch some of those… those.. what’s-his-name films you always go on about--”   
  
“It’s  _ Bond,  _ angel,” Crowley rasps out, and musters the strength to roll his eyes. “Watch it for me?” he asks softly.   
  
“I will,” Aziraphale whimpers, then sobs out, “Oh,  _ Crowley.  _ I was going to ask you to marry me tonight.”   


“You… you were?”   
  
“Y-yes.” Aziraphale sniffles. “And now it’s too late. It’s-s simply not- not fair…”   
  
“‘S’not too late.” Crowley coughs, and more blood spills from his lips, weakly. He’s losing strength now, Aziraphale can tell. His eyes are almost closed, and his metaphysical parts are starting to show as he starts to slip from his corporation. “Ask me?”   
  
Fresh tears fill Aziraphale’s eyes. “Crowley. My- my dear,” he breathes. “Will you… w-will you marry me?” He fumbles a ring out of his pocket. It’s silver. It has angel wings on it.   
  
“Obviously,” Crowley croaks weakly, and cracks a small, pained smile. Aziraphale slides the ring onto Crowley’s bony finger and gathers the demon into his arms so he can see it.

“See that?” he asks Crowley, tears streaming down his face at how lost Crowley looks, how he can’t focus enough on the ring enough to properly see it. “You’re my husband now. Forever and ever. I’ll never take another. My love.”   
  
“Love…” Crowley slurs. His eyes slide shut, like he’s falling asleep. But then they open again, and for a moment, there is startling clarity-- Crowley’s eyes are wide and sharp, and have never looked more like a blazing sunset. He grins. There’s something sweet and almost boyish in that look, and for all that Aziraphale has loved, he has never felt it quite like  _ this. _

_ “Husband,”  _ he murmurs, as his eyes glaze over again, for the last time. “I like that… angel…”   
  
Crowley dies with a smile on his lips, and the bookshop has never felt so empty. There is a stark, cold sort of light coming through the windows that reminds Aziraphale of Heaven, catching the dust motes swirling lazily through the air, gleaming off the fine points of his frozen eyelashes, around the congealed, empty gold of his eyes.   
  
The ring appears on its own, a perpetually warm thing made of black metal, with a cats-eye gem of a very specific color in the center.   
  
Aziraphale kisses Crowley’s forehead, and slowly, reluctantly, closes those eyes for eternity.   
  


_ ***** _

_ In a lonely bookshop in Soho, an angel transforms a demon’s corporation into an apple tree, watches James Bond, and weeps. _

_ ***** _

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**Author's Note:**

> Come scream with me on [my tumblr](https://miktronik.tumblr.com/)!!!


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